Talk To Me
by letsjustfloaton
Summary: John is in a warehouse in the middle of the night chained to a bed, and Sherlock is there with him. lots of noncon and domestic violence ahead.
1. Chapter 1

Beyond the ringing in his ears, John could almost hear the birds in the distance. Birds of Paradise. They were close to him, he could almost see the lovely hues of red and yellow feathers perched on tropical branches. He was so close, so close to paradise, but so far away now. The birds. They're flying away. He was so close to paradise, a breath away from it. The ringing stopped and his vision suddenly became more focused and less spaced out and blurry.

Reality was starting to sink in. Where was he? It's so dark and cold, unforgiving, you could say. The ceiling was dusty and the walls were made of rough concrete, obviously a warehouse. There was also no light except for a small window at the other side of the room. Only moonlight was showing through. He looked straight up, uninterested in his surroundings. He was feeling pain in his lower abdomen, sharp burning was what is more like.

It burned through his body like a ring of fire starting in his anus, going inside of him. Fire. Fire everywhere inside of him. As the ringing subsided he could hear grunting. Grunting that came from a very familiar voice.

_Oh_.

He now realized what was happening to him in this rotten den. The pain in his arse was starting to become more clear to him, now that he realized who was causing the pain. A tear started to fall down his cheek. The tear burned in it's own way. A burning that was not as intense as below, it was almost superficial. Then more tears. They kept falling down both of his cheeks now.

"Sherlock," he moaned, half choking on his own sobs, "What are you doing?"

The pain was more clear now. He could feel Sherlock's every motion. His legs were slamming against his arse cheeks in sync with his foul grunts. He could feel his prick entering and exiting his body. And then it suddenly stopped. Sherlock's faced appeared directly above his, no more than ten centimetres away. He hovered for a few seconds, and then spoke.

"I see you're awake now," he said with a smile. "Having a good time, are we?"

"No Sherlock!" John was frantic when he said that. He was crying so hard now, but he knew that wouldn't get him anywhere, so he calmed down a bit, enough to speak properly. "Get off of me, please."

The thrusting started again, slower now. Sherlock was going to make John suffer with every second that passed.

With the same smirk on his face, Sherlock spoke. "You're so beautiful like this, spread out where I can see every inch of you. Your body is perfect, John. You're perfect,"

Sherlock's face was more solemn now, and his eyes were no longer on John's face anymore. They looked through him, and his mouth opened as John could feel Sherlock's cock emptying itself inside of him. The tears came slower now, but they remained constant. John knew that screaming wouldn't help him, so he tried to find an exit, a way out of this nightmare. His eyes darted around the room looking for an escape, and out of extreme luck, he could see a door in the distance, probably about a hundred yards away. Not too far for an ex-militant. He could get out of there if he could reach for Sherlock and subdue him. A punch to the face would do well, he supposed, but it wouldn't get Sherlock off of him and far enough away to be able to escape. And what about after that? He's never been to this place before. Where could he go? He could be anywhere in the world right now and Sherlock is the only man in the room who knew exactly where.

John had to get Sherlock off of him one way or another, if he wanted to reach the door. A kick could deliver enough damage, yes? It could certainly stun him for a short amount of time, enough to make a run for it.

And with that, John kicked Sherlock, still in his sexual peak, and knocked him off of him. Just as John was about to run, he found that he was restrained by a pair of handcuffs.

Damn.

"Oh come on John, I'm Sherlock bloody Holmes! Did you really think I wouldn't even take precaution to restrain you? I'm not an idiot, like you."

And with that, he proceeded to beat John mercilessly, each blow hurt a little more than the one before it. He just kept hitting John until he was satisfied with his gruesome work.

John's face was a train wreck, he groaned, and then spat blood in Sherlock's face. Sherlock returned the gesture.

"You're pathetic John. It's quite sad how your life has turned to shit. But I do have to ask; what is it like being so pathetic and helpless and, well to be honest, quite stupid?"

There was no response, only anger, as evident in John's open eye. He glared at Sherlock with fire in the one eye, until Sherlock finally spoke.

"Ah, so you won't be respectful to your superior, hm? Maybe we should have another session of me ravaging you, yes?"

"No! No, God, please no."

John's response was one filled with fear, he knew that he was trapped, and there's no use in getting any more bloodied in the face, so he swallowed, took a deep breath, and continued, "Can we please talk about this Sherlock?"


	2. Chapter 2

"You could've avoided this, John. It could've been so much easier for you, if you had not struggled against me."

"Sherlock, the first day we met you told me that you don't do relationships. How could this be any easier even if you didn't rape me?"

Smack. Sherlock's hand was too quick for John to grimace. Sherlock's hand could be silk if felt gently, but upon impact, it was like being hit with a putter across the face.

"Actually, contrary to popular belief, I am actually quite skilled in the art of sex. If you hadn't resisted so much, this might have been quite pleasurable. I don't have any toys about me though, so I wasn't very sure I could warm you up," he held out his hand and wiggled his fingers, "with these."

"You're sick, you do know that, correct?"

"So I've been told." A grim smile appeared on his face. He lifted himself off the bed John was restrained to, if you could even call it that. It was more of a wide operating table stained with splotches of semen and blood. Sherlock started putting his clothes back on incredibly slowly, as if to give John a show.

"Sherlock, where are we?"

"A seventy-three year old manufacturing warehouse. It's been on the market since 2005, but no one has really wanted to actually revive and furnish the place. So I've made this my den, of sorts." He chuckled to himself, "I think you'll enjoy this place also, John." He then walked up to John, who was wincing from fear, and laid his hand on his cheek. "I think you'll really enjoy this place."

He then moved behind John; out of his view of vision. John heard the clanging of metal, and felt Sherlock moving the handcuffs attached to the table leg.

"Come John. Get dressed. There's no reason to lose your dignity over nudity," he said with a smirk. "Your clothes are in a pile over in that corner."

He made his way over to his own clothes, back to Sherlock, so he can get a view of the room. He looked through the window and quickly found out that they were on a second story building.

Shit. No outlet there.

He reached for his clothes, but they were different from the clothes he had before he was kidnapped. These weren't even John's clothes, they're not something he would buy. He doesn't wear all black. Or leather. He held them up in the moonlight to get a better view of them.

"Sherlock, what in God's name are these," he said turning around.

"Yes, that is the piece you'll be wearing from now on. It's a black leather vest complete with a collar to attach a leash to, along with a leather jockstrap for not only easy access, but also for show. You'll be quite the eyecatch, John."

"What the hell do you mean by eyecatch? What are you planning to do? Sell me?"

"No John, I'm not that cruel. I meant eyecatch for the occasional guest that just so happens to come by. And for myself, of course. You eat with your eyes, John, not your mouth."

"I'm not wearing these."

"Yes John, you are. Put them on, now."

"No. I'll look like one of those men you see in the top shelf magazines you see in the market. Absolutely not."

Smack. Sherlock was too quick for John to dodge the blow to his face.

"Ow ow! Alright Sherlock, I'll wear it, goddammit!"

"Good, John. Very good," Sherlock said with a pleased smile.

John put the vest on first, his head sliding through the collar that was connected by chains to the vest itself. It was very tight fitting, but not so much so it became uncomfortable. The vest hugged his body tightly. He felt like he was a bit too big for his britches at that moment, but he soon got used to the snug feeling.

He then turned away from Sherlock to pull on the leather jockstrap. It had a bright blue stripe down the middle of the support patch, for contrast against the black.

"Did you get these a size too small on purpose, Sherlock?"

"Yes. Turn around."

"Damn you."

Sherlock's pupils dilated once he saw the image of John in front of him. The vest was so tight, his nipples indented the front, and Sherlock saw the blond dusting of hair over John's pectorals. They were a side-effect of his military service. He walked over to John, slid his hands over his full chest, and grabbed the red leather laces connected to the vest. He started tying them through the metal loopholes of the vest in a corset fashion.

"So fucking gorgeous, John."

There was no reply, only shallow, almost empty breaths of air from John. Sherlock stepped back a bit, to return to the full view that he had before. He let his eyes travel the now tied corset to the main… attraction.

The support patch was more than snug around John's cock. It clung tightly to it, to the point where you could tell exactly what his cock looked like without the undergarment. Sherlock could feel himself hardening now, he liked seeing John like this, vulnerable, hurt, in leather.

"You look spectacular."

"Go away," John muttered.

"What was that," his voice impending punishment, "John, am I going to have to inform you, yet again, that I am your superior?"

"Go away!" He shouted this time, but he quickly regretted it. He flinched for a few seconds, just to be prepared for what may come next, but instead of pain on his face, he heard chuckling. Sherlock was laughing at him.

"John, I - We can both clearly see that you don't want me to go away."

"What the hell do you mean?"

"Look down, love."

Oh, God. John's cock was half hard, leaning to the side because of the restriction on his genitals.

"That means nothing Sherlock. I am not attracted to you in any way. It's a natural reaction to an adrenaline rush, which is a natural reaction to the position I was put in only a few minutes ago, you twat."

Sherlock reached behind him and pulled a large riding crop out of his back pocket.

"You're quite resistant to my charms, John, But I know that I can train you to be the best fucking slut in all of Britain, goddamnit. I mean, you've already shown potential to me, of course," he chuckled to himself. "Come here John."


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry! I'm really late - I know. I've just been busy with schoolwork and stuff, so this is kind of part one for the third chapter. I'll see you next tuesday ^.^**

**(Oh, and reviews are much appreciated!)**

* * *

"Come here, John."

John glanced around for a possible exit, his eyes darting quickly to a flight of stairs he must have missed before. He had to think quick. If he ran straight towards it, Sherlock would most definitely catch and stop him. He turned his head to get a back view and saw the bed he was violated on before. He knew how to get out of here.

John yelled as loud as he could while running towards the bed, hoping to surprise Sherlock, and possibly slow him down, but the screech didn't faze him. Nevermind that. When John reached the bed he used his hand to project himself over the bed and send Sherlock doing the exact same hurl. He used the moment of Sherlock's leap by running to the stairs as fast as he could, quickly running out of breath.

The stairs were wooden and creaked as if they were a hundred years old. He made his way down the flight until he reached a scarlet painted door. Although it was extremely heavy, he managed to open it enough to slip through. As he was exiting the doorway he glanced to Sherlock, who was no more than two seconds away from grabbing him. John turned around and ran into a quite large, lavish hallway. The wallpaper had gold printing and red vertical stripes reaching floor to the ceiling. The floor was wooden, with a matching colour scheme intricately designed carpet, which stretched from the beginning to the end of the hallway.

John seemed to slow down, as this was no characteristic of a 73 year old warehouse. Where was he?

The glimmer of hope, of a possible way out, in John's eye was quickly depleted when Sherlock forcefully grabbed his shoulder, stopping John from running away, and pulled him to the floor. He quickly put his weight on top of John, pinning him to the ground.

"What was that for?" Sherlock panted, even in this moment he still retained his sarcastic demeanor.

"Sherlock, did you honestly expect me to stay with you after you goddamned raped me?!"

"Don't say that word!"

"What's wrong, Sherlock? Can you not live with what you've done to me?! Are you so embarrassed that you can't even accept the truth?! You're bloody sick, Sherlock."

Even though John was anticipating it, there was no blow from Sherlock. Not even a rebuttal to prove him wrong. Sherlock knew what he did. He raped John. Pinned him to a bed, and raped him brutally.

"I'm sorry John I-"

"Sherlock, don't even bother. You've already done enough damage to me, I don't need your poor choice of words to make things even more painful." He took a deep breath, "I'm tired and I'm hurt. Can you please take me to the flat so I can get my things? This isn't you, Sherlock. You just need to let me leave."


End file.
